


How to Break a Good Soldier

by fishywritesbullshit



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Angst, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes-centric, Child Murder, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Murder, Pain, Physical hurt, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, So much torture, Torture, Whump, chapter one is bad, chapter one is worse than the other chapters, i'll add tags as i go, im bad at tagging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 08:20:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19103299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishywritesbullshit/pseuds/fishywritesbullshit
Summary: "The floor was too cold so Bucky was curled up in his cot, a mangy little thing in the corner of his room, trying to conserve as much heat as possible. They had left him here longer than usual, not that that was important but Bucky focussed on it, given it was the only thing to focus on there. The longest they’d left him before was 12 hours, it had been 13 hours since they came for him and he was getting..antsy? Weird. He knew they’d come eventually. They’d come and they’d take him and they’d make him fight, if he lost they would punish him, in increasingly fucked up and painful ways. If he won they’d kick him and tell him good job. He wasn’t sure why they did that, but it was really annoying. Either kick him or congratulate him why both? Fuckin weirdos.He didn’t know what they wanted him for, they weren’t questioning him and they weren’t just straight up torturing him for no good reason. They were...training him. To fight, to win. It was throwing him off balance. Maybe sleep would help. Bucky laid down on the spring covered cot and closed his eyes, hoping that they’d leave him alone long enough for him to get a decent amount of shut-eye."





	1. Chapter One: Taken

The floor was too cold so Bucky was curled up in his cot, a mangy little thing in the corner of his room, trying to conserve as much heat as possible. They had left him here longer than usual, not that that was important but Bucky focussed on it, given it was the only thing to focus on here. The longest they’d left him before was 12 hours, it had been 13 hours since they came for him and he was getting..antsy? Weird. He knew they’d come eventually. They’d come and they’d take him and they’d make him fight, if he lost they would punish him, in increasingly fucked up and painful ways. If he won they’d kick him and tell him good job. He wasn’t sure why they did that, but it was really annoying. Either kick him or congratulate him why both? Fuckin weirdos. 

He didn’t know what they wanted him for, they weren’t questioning him and they weren’t just straight up torturing him for no good reason. They were...training him. To fight, to win. It was throwing him off balance. Maybe sleep would help. Bucky laid down on the spring covered cot and closed his eyes, hoping that they’d leave him alone long enough for him to get a decent amount of shut-eye. 

The guards came in at half-past three in the morning, Bucky could still keep pretty good time, there were clocks in the training room and he could keep track from there. He had been half asleep when they came in, but he sat up when he heard the door creak open. He didn’t like when his captors came at this time, he knew that he’d have to fight and fighting was always harder at night, his limbs stiff from attempting to sleep on the torn and pokey mattress. 

He used to fight them when they came in, they used to have to sedate him or hit him in the head with the back end of their pistols. They’d drag him unconscious to the training room and kick him until he woke up. Leaving him to fight through his bruises.

He didn’t fight anymore, but he didn’t go willingly either. He sat in his bed and waited for them to come get him, back straight against the wall. They walked over heavily, they’re black suits were thick, with army level protection. They grabbed his arms and pulled him off the mattress, dragging him out of the room as he stumbled behind them. 

They walked down the same hallways they always did. Left, right, right, straight, left, until they reach the training room door. And they kept walking. He stared at the door as he was dragged away from it, this was new. Maybe they had another room? He walked blindly after them taking a path he’d never been down before. They stopped outside a door like all the others, grey metal completely solid, almost blending in with the wall, a mechanical lock to the left of the door with a combination he didn't know. The guards turned him away as they entered the pin and the door popped open for them. They pulled him in and shoved him to the floor. The room was small, it held two chairs facing each other and a small video camera was positioned in the corner of the room. They were watching him.

He pulled himself off the floor and took another scan of the room, the walls were grey and empty, the only thing the room held were the chairs, the camera, and a little black ball in the corner. He hadn’t noticed it before and he approached it cautiously. His ribs still hurt from the last time he’d lost, three days ago. They had tied him down with straps over his stomach and they tightened them until he thought his ribs would crack apart, leaving him with two clean bruise lines across his abs. He winced as he bent down to pick up the ball, throwing it into the air and catching it as it fell down. 

He tossed it a couple more times before taking a seat in the chair and holding the ball by his side. He took the chair that was facing the door, he didn’t want to be surprised by whoever came in next. He was in there for 30 minutes when the door swung open and a man walked in in a sharp three-piece suit. No armor to be seen, this man must be a lunatic being in here with Bucky alone. 

He opened his mouth, going to say hello to the man when a hand reached out and backhanded him across the face. He stumbled to the floor and groaned as his ribs collided with the cold concrete underneath him.  
“Pathetic,” a dark voice said from above him. He turned his head and watched as the man left the room. The guards came in a moments later, hauling him up and bringing him to the training room. He fought and he won and they punched him in the face, congratulating him on his victory. 

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He was pressed against the floor in his room, they took his cot away while he was fighting and replaced it with a blanket. He was underneath the blanket when they came in, ripping it off of him and slapping him when he yelped in surprise. They dragged him back to the training room. He started asking who he was going to fight today but only got three words in when he was slapped again. He figured it out the fifth time they hit him, he stopped talking and the hits stopped. He fought and fought and fought and as he was about to take the other guy out he was punched hard in the ribs and he went spiraling onto the ground, groaning as the bruises there came to life burning against his stomach. His opponent pressed the knife to his neck and Bucky winced at the realization that he’d lost. 

The guards came up to him and tore him off the ground hauling him by his hair out of the room, he could barely keep up and he fell over twice the guards yanking out the hair they were holding as his body dropped to the ground. They brought him down hallways he was less familiar with but still new well. Left, left, straight, into one of the room they used to hurt him. As he was dragged in his eyes widened at the sight, there was a table in the middle of the room, covered with spikes, blunt enough not to tear into his skin, but sharp enough to hurt like a bitch if he was strapped down with the restraints lying at the corners of the table. He startled and tried to twist out of his captor's grip, only serving to yank more of his hair out and get him another hard punch to the stomach. He was manhandled closer to the table and someone walked up to him holding a length of rope that had been tied into a gag. He turned his head away from the soldier in front of him, refusing to let them but the bit in his mouth. In one fluent motion, the guards holding his hair turned his head toward the gag and the man in front of him pinched his nose shut, closing off his airflow. He would have to open his mouth eventually but he put it off as long as he could, until a sharp pain in his ribs made him gasp out in surprise, the guards in front of him immediately wrestled the large bit gag into his mouth pulling him down by his hair and securing it behind his head. 

He shook his head violently trying to get the gag off, but it had been secured well and with the guard holding his hands behind his back he couldn’t get it off. He was shoved towards the table, his hands, having been released and reaching out on instinct to catch himself from falling, landed on the spike-covered table and he yelled behind the gag his hands coming up only serving to make him fall face first onto the table, his screams growing louder as the spikes dug hard into the skin of his face. He scrambled to get off the table but the guards were once more grabbing his arms and cuffing them securely behind his back. He laid on the table catching his breath pain flowing through his mind with the sharp sting of the spikes still on his face. He tried standing up multiple times and only succeeded in falling onto the table over and over again as the spikes drew blood from his cheeks. 

He looked towards his captors and seethed with rage, he was James fucking Barnes, he could handle a little pain and he could definitely stand the fuck up from a table. He took a deep breath leaning into the table despite the pain and using his strength to through his upper body of the table. He stayed upright this time, although he almost fell backward, having trouble keeping his balance with his arms behind his back. 

He looked towards the soldiers around a smug look crossing his face as he stood with pride at prevailing over their new form of punishment. The captors, evidently not pleased that he was able to get back up and angrier still as the prisoner didn’t seem to mind the blood running down his cheeks from the fresh wounds, surged towards him and shoved his head towards the ground grabbing his hands and uncuffing them from behind his back. 

For a moment Bucky thought they were going to bring him back to his cell but they started pulling him towards the table and he started thrashing against them. As much as he wanted his captors to think he was strong, which he was thank you very much, he did not want to go on the table. The soldiers ignored him, stripping him of his shirt and they picked him up still thrashing throwing him roughly onto the table. A scream tore it’s way from Bucky’s mouth as his entire back made contact with the sharp spikes covering the table. He writhed trying to get off but that only served in making the spikes dig deeper into his skin. The pain was lesser through the fabric of his pants but it still tore at him and he involuntarily bucked his legs up off the table, only for them to fall back on the table the spikes stabbing into him. This continued for a while, writhing around on the table and jumping at the pain only to come crashing back down. It was a circle of pain and Bucky was helpless to stop it, his skin was being torn open and he felt tears pricking his eyes, he didn’t want to cry, he was a soldier, a man and soldiers didn’t cry. Nonetheless, the tears fell as the spikes repeatedly dug into their own wounds and he screamed around the gag. When he finally crashed down on the table for the last time his face was covered with tears and snot and his back undoubtedly covered in his own blood. He lay there quietly sobbing as the spikes dug into his back but he had no more energy to try to get away. He could only twitch as the soldiers took his hands and legs and strapped him down, leaving him to the pain and moving single file out of the room as tears slipped freely out of his eyes. 


	2. Chapter Two: Rebel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yayy more torture : ) ) ) ) also bucky get's more personality so that's fun

After the spiked table, they brought him back to his cell. His eyes were glazed over and his brain was short-circuiting from the pain. They’d left him there for over 3 hours, his body rotating between twitching, writhing, and bucking against the pain which only hurt him more but he couldn’t get his body to stop stop stop stop. He couldn’t see his back but he had no doubt it was covered in holes from where the spikes had unrelentlessly dug into his skin. He meant to stay up in case his captors came back for more torture, but as soon as he was let go he crawled over to the scratchy blanket in the corner and slept. He woke 7 hours later, surprised they had let him sleep so long, the longest time alone may have been 13 hours but he was usually pulled from his cell after 5 or 6. He went to pull himself from the blanket, yelping out in pain as the dried blood on his back tore away harshly from the fabric. He grit his teeth and swiftly yanked the blanket clean off, groaning through clenched teeth as it tore scab after scab off of his already sore back. He reach around running his fingers over the freshly opened wounds his hand coming back covered in blood. He wiped it on the blanket getting up to get some water.

The session hurt like a bitch, but he was okay, he’d always be okay, it would take a lot more than that to break him. He took the blanket from the floor, soaking the corner of it in water and using it to clean up his back, bending his arms at odd angles trying to reach all the wounds. He checked his legs once he finished, considerable less wounds, but the scabs there had still been ripped off when he removed his pants. He repeated the cleaning process on his legs and but back on his pants. He hadn’t been given his shirt back so he tied the blanket loosely around his upper body trying to stave off the cold as long as possible. He sat down in the spot his cot used to be in, head against the wall and he stared at the ceiling thinking of an escape plan. He could try to jump the guards the next time they came to get him but he was no match for them, weapon or armor wise. Plus it’d take him a good hour at least to find a way out of here, no doubt encountering more guards along the way. He could try to sneak out but he was never left alone unless he was strapped down or in his cell and the only way out from here was the door that remained securely locked at all times.

He sat in the corner thinking of ways out until his captors came back. He flinched upon hearing the door open, he quickly told himself it wasn’t because he was scared, he had been startled by the noise that’s all, he had been deep in thought after all. Yeah, that’s it, no fear, his captors could suck his dick he was _not_ scared of them. Not at all. Nope. He was pulled from his thoughts once more as his captors grabbed his hair.

“Ow I can walk on my own th-” SMACK

Shit right, no talking. He brought his hand up to his face, the hit hurting more than it should have because of the cuts from falling onto the table yesterday. Was it yesterday? Shit now he was losing track of time. He was not breaking! He was just...tired. Okay, these excuses were getting him nowhere, get your shit together Barnes!

They led him down the hallways to the training room, left, right, right, straight, left. He almost hoped they’d keep going, back to room with the suited man. But they turned, entered the code to the door and pulled him in by the hair. He looked around and saw an array of weapons scattered on the ground, knives, guns, a fucking wooden spear what was that about? He looked around almost asking what they weapons were for before remembering about that no talking rule. Rule? Hold on was he following rules made by psychos now? What the fuck Barnes? Deciding that he definitely _was not_ following rules made by his captors he opened his mouth and spoke his fucking heart out.

“What’s with the weapons?” SMACK

“Ow, come on guys you might wanna hit a little harde-” SMACK

“Wow, you know that’s no way to treat a gue-” SMACK

“I’m gonna have to-” SMACK

“Rude” SNAP, he heard it before he registered the pain, he back was burning and he could feel blood from wounds being reopened. He had let out a yell upon feeling the pain and had gotten another slap in the face for making noise. He looked behind him seeing a guard holding a bullwhip in his hand raising it quickly towards the ceiling. He ducked down trying to avoid the sting of the weapon but the soldiers now behind him still had a hold on his hair and they held him steady as the whip came down on his bare chest.

“Fuck!” he yelled involuntarily and the whip came down again. He yelled and the whip hit him again. This went on for some time, the steely faced guard whipping him every time he made a noise, which was mostly due to being whipped, until he was gritting his teeth willing himself to stop making noises every time the thin strip of leather came down on his wounds. When they stopped he was left with a litany of fresh cuts all over his chest, breathing raggedly and only being held upright by the grip the guards still had on his hair. He didn’t want to feel the sting of bullwhip again, but fuck all if he was going down easy. He steeled himself for the sting grit his teeth and shakily let his mouth work open.

“You guys got some weird kinks I’ll tell you that much” he let himself chuckle looking up at the guard in front of him just in time to see the whip come down hard on his face.

“Fuck!” The whip had hit just below his eye, any higher and it would have knocked it clean out of his socket. They started in on his face with the whip, hitting him every time he spoke even if the only words coming out of his mouth were broken syllables, his brain was jumbling and he couldn’t put a full sentence together, mostly letting out profanities when the bullwhip hit him over the same spot multiple times. He once again forced himself to stop verbally responding to the pain and his captors once again stopped the abuse. He contemplated speaking again just to piss them off, but he looked around and remembered they were still in the training room and they probably weren’t going to postpone his fight because he got himself beat up. He decidedly wanted to be free of the spiked table more than he wanted to defy his captors, knowing it would hurt so much more on top of his healing wounds.

He stayed quiet this time, face dripping with blood and panting in as much air as he could. He had dropped to his knees at some point during the onslaught and he hated how small he felt, on his knees and obeying these psychos. They looked pleased with themselves, smug looks plastered on their faces, and that almost made him say something, almost. But he stayed quiet, mouth snapped shut and eyes staring defiantly back at his captors.

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They made him choose a weapon, he got up slowly and looked around the arsenal lain in front of him. He looked at the gun, a pistol, not the most helpful and he wasn’t supposed to _kill his_  opponent so risky. He looked at the knives and thought those were probably going to be his best option as he kept looking. His eyes glazed over the bow and arrow, the ax, and the wooden spear, and finally settled on a pair of swords. He knelt down and picked them up, testing the balance and decided they would do quite nicely. He picked them up and looked at the soldiers surrounding him. He was tempted to try escape but as he turned around he saw all 3 guards had their guns out and were pointing them at him. He set the weapons down and put his hands into the air. As much as he _had been_  planning on stabbing them he didn’t want to get shot, thanks.

They stepped around him, sweeping up the unchosen weapons and setting the swords he picked out on a table. He was shoved into the ring in the center of the room and a soldier carrying the swords walked in beside him. Bucky watched as a man larger than himself stepped into the battleground opposite him. He watched as the soldier gave him a smirk, walked over to the larger man and handed him the swords.  _Well, that’s just fuckin great_ Bucky thought solemnly. The man looked at Bucky, who stood whipped and weaponless, bleeding on the ground before their fight had even begun, and smiled.

The soldier stepped out of the ring and signaled them to start, the man immediately lunging at Bucky, a sword in each hand. He ducked and rolled to the right, yelping as his many many wounds collided with the rough ground of the training ring and started burning in pain. He flinched expecting to feel the sting of the whip and flinched again as he felt something much worse. The blade he had picked out held in the hand of his much larger opponent cutting into his stomach. He screamed as it cut deep through at least four other wounds and carved a much deeper one straight across his abdomen. He laid panting on the floor and felt the cold sting of the sword pressed against his throat, whimpering at the thought of the table on his fresh wounds and hating himself for making such a pitiful noise.

He felt his captors hands under him, lifting up undoubtedly for some new form of torture. He found himself struggling for the first time in a while, he didn’t want to go back to the table. He couldn’t tell how long he’d been here, at least two months. They were starting to get to him. He felt tears rolling down his face and he hated himself for it. Stealing himself he stopped struggling and told himself to face his punishment like a soldier.

 

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They didn’t bring him to the table, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was grateful for them. As a soldier, he was supposed to have a steely resolve and not crack under pressure. But having those spikes back under him would have hurt, he would’ve screamed and he would’ve been punished for screaming. He imagined being whipping while on the table and shuddered, glad they seemed to headed somewhere else.

His gratefulness disappeared when he saw the room they were bringing him to. The one he was first brought to. It held a steel table with matching steel cuffs in each corner. Beside the table was a cart, filled with tools designed to hurt him. From knives and scalpels to things he couldn’t even name. He felt his breathing pick up, he could handle it but god did he really wish he was home right now. Or back in his cell. Anywhere other than here or the table, yeah that’d be good.

The guards dragged him into the room, this time by his arms and not his hair. Good, his scalp was sore from the amount of hair they’d pulled out. He felt his breathing pick up and realized with a start that he had begun hyperventilating. He could handle a little torture okay everything was _fine_. He let them lead him to the table only struggling a little on instinct as they strapped in. He was still just in his pants and his back stung as it made contact with the cold metal table. He steadied his breathing and stared up at the cement ceiling, he could hear them rummaging around the cart next to him but decided not to look. Whatever it was was going to hurt and looking would not help his panic right now. The rummaging stopped and despite his better instincts, he glanced over at the soldier standing at his side. The armored man held what looked like a standard kitchen knife in his left hand a metal hook in his right. His breath picked up again at the sight of the hook but he forced his lungs to _calm the fuck down_ as he clenched his teeth and stared back up at the ceiling.

The man came over to him, transferring the hook to his left hand with the knife and inspecting the abdomen wound his competitor had given him. Apparently deciding that it wasn’t in need of medical attention the man stepped back, gave him a cold smile and plunged the knife into Bucky’s shoulder. He screamed as the steel of the knife hit bone and the soldier above him twisted it harshly only causing Bucky to let out another jagged scream. The man smiled another hollow smile as he stood up, leaving the knife in Bucky’s shoulder, and moved back to the wound on his stomach. His captor picked up the hook he had set down beside Bucky and dragged it softly along the inside of the cut dragging along his abs. The man glanced up James’ body towards where Bucky was watching the cold metal dance along his still bleeding cut, and dug the hook through the side of his wound effectively tearing a new hole into bucky’s stomach. He screamed horsley dropping his head back to the table trying to breathe through the pain. His arms tugging at his restraints trying desperately to do something to stop the hook that was now tugging at his skin.

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Their torture lasted for 2 more hours, cutting and stabbing into him leaving more hooks and knives in various parts of his body. He had passed out twice only to wake up screaming finding that his torturers had not stopped their abuse even as he was unconscious. In the end, they opened the restraints and made him tear out all the tools they had used to abuse him. It hurt but his other option was leaving them in and that would definitely hurt more. As he pulled them out his captors wrapped some of the deeper wounds in scratchy clothe assumedly just to keep him from bleeding out. Then they dragged him back to his cell and tossed him onto the floor. He let out a groan as his new wounds hit the ground knowing he’d lose tomorrow's fight. With the number of wounds he had, there was no way he could overpower his enemy before they figured out where it hurt most and delivered a blow that would send him sprawling to the ground. He passed out on the floor, blanket abandoned in the corner of his room, a sliver of his hope disappearing inside him.


	3. Chapter Three: Cracked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This ones short af but I couldn't resist the cliffhanger

He woke with a start to a hand in his hair, pulling his head to the side, as a needle pressed into his neck. He was groggy and his faraway brain wondered idly why they were sedating him if they could pick him up far easier with him awake. As soon as the needle retracted his hair was dropped and he repressed a groan as his head landed hard on the concrete underneath him. They left the room after that, leaving him on the floor staring at the ceiling wondering what the fuck just happened. They came in, injected  _ something _ and just left. Y’know not his problem, he wasn’t being tortured and he wasn’t fighting so he was going back to sleep. He got up and grabbed the blanket out of the corner, it wasn’t the most comfortable thing and he didn’t really need it cause it was surprisingly hot in here, but he figured he could use it as a pillow. He laid down and closed his eyes, wondering what they had put in his neck as he fell back asleep. 

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He woke up to a burning sensation in...everywhere, god it felt like he was on fire. He shot up off the makeshift pillow groaning as his aching body was moved. There was a fine layer of sweat covering his entire body and all his cuts were stinging, his insides boiling as his head filled with fog. He blinked rapidly looking around the room because it was  _ hot _ in here and he half expected to find his cell in flames.

But his cell was just as it had been when the guards came in earlier and...injected him. Everything clicked into place as he realized the drug they gave him was most definitely  _ not  _ a sedative. He moaned in pain as the fire inside him roared and he felt as if his very blood had been replaced by molten lava. He shuffled over to the corner of his room, using the walls to support his body as he dropped his head back and let it collide with the cement. Waiting for the drug to wear off as the boiling in his body flared up once more. 

The drug lasted for nearly four hours. The heat had gotten worse and worse and he had started screaming. At first, it was just drawn out sounds but then he yelled at it to stop and once he started he couldn’t stop. He was begging the world to make it stop to make him feel whole and when the world didn’t answer he started begging to his captors, hoping beyond hope that they had an antidote and were willing to use it. “Please!” he shouted, and he couldn’t believe he was pleading with the monsters who were doing this to him in the first place,  but his insides felt like they were melting ad the already aching wounds that covered his skin burned with such vengeance he felt as if his whole body was going to collapse into a smoldering pile of ash. So he yelled at them to make it stop and when that didn’t work he went back to begging, pleading with the monsters he knew where watching because he needed it to stop. 

No one answered his pleas and he sat there pressed into the corner for nearly 2 hours,  screaming and crying and begging for it to stop, before passing out from the pain. And the next time he woke up it had stopped and he cried tears of joy and let himself fall back to sleep. 

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He had woken up again and he was sitting against the wall examining his body for any physical signs of the boiling, but it appeared the drug only made him  _ feel _ like he was burning alive from the inside out instead of actually killing him. 

When the door clicked and started creaking open he tried to press himself further into the wall, admitting for the first time since he entered this place that he was scared. Scared they were going to come in and stab his neck with the needle again and he would burn and burn and he didn't want that to happen so he stayed quiet and looked at his captors, eyes shimmering with tears, and silently begged them to give him mercy. They seemed happy that he was finally scared, finally moving away when they came in to get him, finally afraid at what they could and would do to him. And he felt weak, oh so weak because he was a soldier and he had been trained, but he had never been trained for that drug, for feeling his insides being ripped out of him and living to have it happen again. And he couldn’t let it happen again so he told himself he would do what they said if only for today, to keep any other potential needles out of his neck. 

The guards were needleless as they walked single file into his cell but he stood up anyways and for the first time, followed them willingly out of the cold cement room. They were still holding him firmly by the arms but he followed them as quickly as he good trying not to stumble as they dragged him down the achingly familiar hallways. Left, right, right, straight, left, towards the training room and he ached inside cause he wanted to do as they said but he knew he would lose if they made him fought, too worn out from the drug and his deep wounds still burning around his body. 

But they shoved him into the room and straight into the ring, no weapons on the ground this time. The man that walked out in front of him was small, and it hit him full force like a gut punch when he realized it was a kid. Stumbling backward and staring at the soldiers surrounding them. No way was he fighting a kid. The guards came up and gave them both a single knife, and Bucky tossed his on the ground. In the moments before the fight started Bucky had a moment of clarity and realized all the people he had foughten had been captives here as well. He suddenly remembered the opponent's own wounds and the far off looks in their eyes, and he realized every time he’d won someone else had been beaten within an inch of their life, begging for mercy like he had this morning. And with that thought and one more glance towards the kid opposite him, he dropped to his knees. Letting the kid press his knife against his throat, and he swore he saw him mouth ‘thank you’ before he was torn from the ring. 


End file.
